


Flower Bomb

by rispacooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conventions, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pining Derek, Scenting, Trope Inversion, Writer Derek Hale, Writer Stiles, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an eligible omega glanced your way, you were supposed to glance back. Derek could hear an echo of his mother’s voice in his head, gently reminding him there were alphas who would kill to find themselves the focus of an omega’s interest. </p><p>Derek didn’t have the dominating personality or drive necessary to be classified as alpha, and there was no bright spark of appeal about him to say he was omega. He was tall and in good shape. He had a pretty face, dark hair and light eyes, good bone structure. But he had no need to get in fights or conquer the world. He didn’t even like arguing with his family. He was solidly beta, and wouldn’t have minded, never had minded, except for when Stiles was near.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Bomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dlasta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dlasta).



> I tried to write smut for dlasta's birthday and failed miserably.

When an eligible omega glanced your way, you were supposed to glance back. Derek could hear an echo of his mother’s voice in his head, gently reminding him there were alphas who would kill to find themselves the focus of an omega’s interest. There were alphas who _had_ killed to attract even the fleeting attention of an omega. History books were filled with stories about it, most of the tales probably exaggerated but still based in truth. 

Everyone wanted omegas; they were even rarer than alphas. Unlike betas, who possessed overlapping alpha and omega traits, omegas were pure, unadulterated desire, creatures of a phenomenal sex drives and voracious appetites, especially during the genetic holdover collectively referred to as either rut, or heat, depending on culture and the poor soul suffering through it. They could flit from pairing to pairing but when they chose a mate, a partner, they stayed with them, forever. Omegas were rumored to be highly fertile as well, the males fathering tons of kids, the females equally blessed; something else that had been quite the source of competition and bloodshed, at least in the history books. 

These days it was more about omega models and movie stars and the alphas who won and loved them. Derek, his head full of history and the upcoming storylines for his novels, often compared the omegas and alphas to Aphrodite and Ares, respectively. 

He wasn’t quite certain what that made him, if he stuck to that example. Hephaestus, perhaps, which was depressing. Or Hades, who was a top tier god in name only and spent most of his time literally in the shadows. Derek didn’t have the dominating personality or drive necessary to be classified as alpha, and there was no bright spark of appeal about him to say he was omega. He was tall and in good shape. He had a pretty face, dark hair and light eyes, good bone structure. But he had no need to get in fights or conquer the world. He didn’t even like arguing with his family. He was solidly beta, and wouldn’t have minded, never had minded, except for when Stiles was near. 

Every time Derek was at one of these author or publisher events, it felt like Stiles was too. S. Stilinski, creator of wickedly sharp and ruthless fantasy comics, something of a big name, and of course, an omega. 

A _single_ omega, as yet unwon by anyone for any length of time. 

Derek, who knew him from their hometown, couldn’t help but also remember him as the excitable kid he’d been before he’d hit puberty. But the memory was dim, fading fast in the presence of all that sparkling energy. That was the thing about omegas. They could be awkward kids, they could and did stand out from the crowd, they could be different, but that changed quickly as they grew up. Sure, betas and alphas might be lonely losers during high school too, but there was really nothing like the vengeful sexuality of an omega who had been ignored for most of his teenage years. 

Stiles had a laugh like a solar flare, and a reputation for experimentation that made even some other omegas seem tame. 

The persistent sensation of being watched made Derek frown, but it was Stiles’ second laugh that made him finally raise his head from the convention’s event listings he’d been pretending to read. 

Stiles was draped over Scott McCall, his best friend and the illustrator of some of his graphic novels. Scott was one of those exceptional souls who acted as beta as beta could be, but give him an alpha-to-omega spectrum test and he scored as a surprise alpha. Put him in the right situation and he took over. Derek had seen him do it once or twice, turn into the kind of stubbornly reasonable alpha that people thought only existed in stories. Scott expected people to listen to him, and so they did. 

Derek had long thought he was more than a match for Stiles, the nerdiest omega Derek had ever met, but neither had ever shown much of an interest in the other that he could see. 

Of course Derek had been looking. Both alphas and omegas drew the eye. And they all knew each other. Every time they ran into each other from puberty on, Derek was briefly pulled into their strange little circle. 

He took a moment to covertly study Stiles while Stiles snorted inelegantly into Scott’s shoulder. Slender, trim body, broad shoulders, stupid t-shirt that always rode up at the waist to expose skin and a hint of a treasure trail. Smooth skin, dotted with moles, wide mouth, brown eyes, somewhat disheveled hair. His hair appeared soft to the touch. His flushed cheeks radiated health. His eyes glinted knowingly as they fixed on Derek.

Derek straightened despite himself at the omega’s attention and frowned harder for it. He probably looked like he was one of Stiles’ suitors presenting himself when he did that. As if he had anything to offer to remotely compete with the kinds of people who chased after Stiles. Derek didn’t chase omegas. He’d done that before, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

A small crowd had gathered around Stiles, either fans of his work or fans of his person, but Stiles continued to snicker into Scott’s shoulder, and whispered something into his friend’s ear when Scott offered Derek a wave. 

When Scott wrinkled his nose, Derek lowered his attention back to his program. He wished someone else he knew would show up, but Erica was always late, and Boyd was watching a panel across the building. 

Derek really needed to make more friends. Aside from family, that was it, unless he counted the two currently making their way over to him. Which he didn’t, even if it was unfair. Mostly because he was going to leave this exchange feeling like a bumbling idiot, as always. 

Stiles plopped into the seat at Derek’s left. He was capable of grace, and slow, calculating seduction worthy of a courtesan. He could insinuate himself into chairs or lounge on beds with his gaze a knowing challenge, but apparently Derek wasn’t worth the effort. Around Derek he was a jangle of nervous limbs. Derek turned toward him anyway. 

Stiles’ throat was visible, the curve of his ear, his rosy mouth. He was as warm and welcoming as a hearth fire in a happy home, and the house run by an omega would be a happy home indeed. 

“Stiles.” Derek could be polite, even with so much of Stiles’ skin so close that his tongue felt thick. Derek wasn’t an alpha; he wouldn’t fight, much, with an omega partner, and wouldn’t treat them as a trophy. He’d once thought nothing would be better than curling against a pretty omega at night, or coming home to the sweet scent of a pleased omega spouse. He’d work hard to keep them happy and make them feel safe. He’d work so hard. 

“Derek, old buddy!” Stiles slapped a hand to his back, hot, too hot, as if he was burning up with a heat, but he pulled his hand off when a startled Derek met his stare. Stiles hadn’t touched him in years, not since they were teens. Derek was dimly aware of Scott at his right, and felt ringed in for reasons he couldn’t explain. Stiles waved his hands toward the dais in front of them, and the long, empty table. “You came to my panel. I’m touched. And here I thought I’d never get you to come.”

Scott hung his head, as if the innuendo was too much for him. Derek gave a start. He hadn’t heard a terrible line like that since Stiles had been in high school and hadn’t quite grown into his omega sex appeal yet. Derek remembered lots of innuendo and lots of Stiles’s voice cracking. He also remembered Stiles chasing a girl with flaming red hair and the attitude of an alpha. 

His face felt hot. A sure sign he was blushing. Nonetheless, Derek clenched his jaw. He resisted the urge to point out that he went to all of Stiles’ panels and talks, or that Stiles had never approached him ahead of time like this before. Sometimes Scott would pointedly invite Derek out for drinks or coffee with them, with Stiles watching tensely in the background, but Stiles had never approached Derek on his own before. 

“It’s a good panel,” Derek defended himself, after a moment. “Don’t tell me you need my praise to add to everyone else’s.”

Stiles raised both eyebrows. “Well, no,” he murmured, and flicked a look from Derek to Scott and then back to Derek. “But something about the begrudging way you enjoy my work makes my days a little brighter.”

Derek rolled his eyes and ignored how this made Stiles grin. “You know you’re talented. You’ve won enough awards. No need to rub it in my face.” 

Derek wrote historical mysteries. They were popular. They made him some money. But he wasn’t the kind who got movie deals. 

“That’s the thing though.” Stiles leaned into Derek’s space. He was unbelievably warm, warmer than Derek could ever remember him being, even as a teen when his hormones had been out of control and he’d started to attract the attention of every determined beta and alpha in town. Derek had just been grateful the sheriff had been there to watch over him. There were horror stories that still cropped up from time to time, omegas in rut taken advantage of, or abandoned after the heat was over, taped and turned into illicit porn even though everyone knew an omega in heat wasn’t in their right mind. Omegas could, and had, lead countries with the power they possessed, but they were so vulnerable at the same time. No one should ever laugh at them or make them beg.

Derek brought his gaze up from Stiles’ mouth and tried to focus. “Thing?”

“Thing?” Stiles repeated, then met Derek’s stare and blinked. “I mean, that’s the thing about you. You never throw praise at me to try to win a ride on the Stiles-train.”

“The Stiles-train?” Derek heard himself ask in disbelief, at the exact moment Scott murmured, “Wow, you are truly awful at this, bro.”

“Look, I can’t help it, all right?” Stiles scooted closer and leaned to the side to whisper-hiss at his best friend. “I’m not supposed to be doing this part, but someone isn’t getting the hint!”

“I can change seats,” Derek offered, as though his heart wasn’t beating faster to be this close to Stiles. He was going to do something stupid if he stayed this close for too long. He’d catch a hint of his delicious omega-scent, like a flower bomb without the flowers, like spring and life and rays of heat, and then his mouth would go dry, and he’d start wanting to please him. 

He already wanted to do that, to be honest, but in close proximity the urge was harder to deny. He’d decide to get a coffee and realize he’d brought one back for Stiles too. He’d watch Stiles’ bag for him while Stiles was onstage, without any prompting. He’d write books for Stiles. 

The last one was especially embarrassing. He _had_ written books for Stiles, or, with Stiles in mind. Luckily, Stiles apparently never read Derek’s work, because he hadn’t commented, even though there was a trilogy about Simon, a nineteenth century male omega prostitute who solved murders and won a nobleman lover, a prostitute who laughed with his whole body, and had freckles dotting his smooth skin, and had a mind that ensnared as many men as his body did. 

That series had quite a bit of sex in it. Derek wasn’t embarrassed about that. It was the fan reaction that had surprised him. People seemed to have expected the prostitute to end up with Dear Professor, the scientist who assisted him, and not the rich Lord Dudley. Derek knew why they’d expected that; the by-now somewhat infamous scene where Simon had turned to the professor to get him through his heat. Suppressants hadn’t existed then, but a satisfied omega shouldn’t have had to suffer through much, which is why many had scandalized the world throughout history with their exploits. Simon had been caught up in his investigation and had been taken unawares by the onset of his heat. Omegas were vulnerable then, so he’d stumbled to the professor’s small lodgings and….

Derek had allowed himself one stupid, highly embarrassing, self-indulgent moment and now it was the thing readers wanted to ask him about the most. 

“No.” Stiles put a hand on Derek’s arm, without any force, but this time Derek stayed. He didn’t even glance down or raise an eyebrow. He was screwed. It was that warmth emanating from Stiles, his excess energy. It made him think of what Stiles might be like in a heat, which likely wasn’t far off from what Stiles would be like in bed the rest of the time. He would be everything. Stiles’ every emotion took hold of his whole body. His friendship with Scott had endured since childhood. He was loyal and devoted and bursting with the need to find someone worthy of him. The only real surprise was that he hadn’t yet. 

“Despite what you think, some people can be around omegas without falling all over themselves,” Derek insisted. He wanted to hear himself say it, even if it was patently untrue in his case. Derek had been sunk for Stiles as a kid, and then for Kate, and now it was Stiles again, and likely would be until Stiles finally caught the right one and Derek forced himself to get over him. 

“Oh, I am aware, thank you,” Stiles informed him bitterly, at the same moment Scott remarked, “But that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“What?” Derek and Stiles both twisted to look at Scott. 

Scott made a puzzled face. “Not everyone wants every omega. That wouldn’t make sense.”

He was correct. But some had a type. Like Derek. And he never seemed to learn. 

“It isn’t like their appeal drowns out everything else about them,” Scott added. “Stiles lazes around or gets distracted by everything and can take weeks to start writing. Then when he focuses, there’s nothing else in the world. That’s cool, but it’s not for me.” Scott hummed thoughtfully. “No offense, bro.”

Stiles shrugged, as if he knew and had long since stopped caring. Strange, since he seemed so bothered by Derek’s unwillingness to woo him. 

Derek closed his eyes and faced forward. “So if you two aren’t here to get my opinion on anything, why are you here?”

“ _Wow_ ,” Scott said for the second time, full of disbelief. “I’m going to go grab a snack before the panel starts. Hopefully you can figure it out before I get back.” 

Derek opened his eyes as Scott left, then turned to Stiles in something like terror. “You aren’t going with him?”

Stiles crossed his arms and faced the stage. He hunched over exactly as he’d done at thirteen in Derek's family’s kitchen while studying with Cora and glaring at Derek. 

Derek inhaled his healthy, crisp scent, and couldn’t help himself. Stiles was so strangely warm, like a heat was bubbling up beneath his skin. “Is something wrong? Do you—” he bit his lip, but it was no good, “—do you need me to do something for you?”

Stiles cut a look in his direction, then angled his chin up and licked the corner of his mouth. “What did you have in mind?” 

His silky tone slid down Derek’s spine and infused his blood with desire. Derek flushed and breathed harder. His left side was so warm. Everything reminded him of pollen and clean air and babies. He couldn’t impregnate Stiles, but his every instinct made him want to try, and then let Stiles try with him. 

He would give Stiles everything. He could provide. And Stiles would laugh with him and confess he was off suppressants and wanted Derek to be there for his heat, and Derek’s bed would smell of him, of them, ordinary beta-scent and sunshine and sweat and seed, and Derek would feed him and pet him and satisfy his every selfish omega demand. He’d stock up on pistachio ice cream and espresso because he’d read in an interview that Stiles loved both, and in return, Stiles would smile at him and be his. 

It hardly seemed a fair bargain, but Derek would kill for it.

He was as bad as any alpha. Except, of course, he was no alpha. He wasn’t even a best-selling author, even if he did have his own rabid fanbase. 

Derek opened his mouth to offer whatever Stiles wanted, then recalled Kate confessing that while she’d enjoyed practicing her skills on him, it was time for her to move on to bigger game. 

He looked down and felt the program crumple in his fist. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Oh, goddamn it!” Stiles shouted, drawing almost every eye in the room, but he settled down in almost the same moment. He twitched, then started to chew his lower lip. He did that when he had no other outlet. Some omegas did. 

Derek sighed and reached into his bag until he found a juice box with an attached straw. He brought them for Erica. That’s what he told himself. Convention concessions could be pricey and Erica insisted on carrying just her tiny purse. But the only reason Derek brought the pricier pom-grape juice and not simple grape was that Stiles preferred it. Once he’d learned that fact, he hadn’t been able to help himself. 

He dropped the juice box in Stiles’ lap, then pointedly stared at his program. 

Stiles whipped his head around to stare at him. He stared so hard and furiously that Derek probably turned as red as a tomato, but all he did about it was grunt. 

“What?” He didn’t look up. His mother would be scolding him right now for the rudeness. 

Stiles hummed and bounced one leg, a bundle of excess energy again. He was probably incredible in bed, and then a lazy bag of bones when it was all over. It might be nice, seeing him that still for a while, feeling him heavy and sated and cuddled up close. 

“Pom-grape is my favorite,” Stiles remarked, then ripped the plastic on the straw with his teeth. 

“I know,” Derek answered without thinking, his attention caught by everything Stiles did with his mouth. 

Stiles stopped. 

Derek stopped too. Even his heart seemed to halt for an extended moment of humiliation. “I know it’s not anything,” he said quickly, glancing over again. “It’s just a juice box and I’m just a beta. I know already. You don’t have to… you don’t have to say anything. I know.”

“You know?” Stiles pressed softly. He blinked a few times. “Just a beta?” 

“You smell good,” Derek confessed to the useless piece of paper in his lap. “It’s… instinct. I can’t help it. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Don’t… what?” Stiles shifted his entire body to face him. “You got me a juice box.” He held it to his chest and smiled crookedly. “I smell good to you? I kind of thought I did, even though you never tried to get my attention.”

Derek gave him another eye roll, the especially bitchy version that made Laura snarl at him. “You don’t need my attention, Stiles.” Not two months ago Cora had told him Stiles was being courted by some tech millionaire who shared his love of horrible graphic tees. 

“Well, no.” The stillness from Stiles was new, and distracting. It made Derek unnaturally aware of Stiles’ eyelashes and the rhythm of his breathing. “But what if I want it? What if my bones ache with fever to not have it?” He frowned even before Derek shot him a startled glance. “What? Why is that weird? I mean….” He waved vaguely at Derek. 

Derek studied him in total confusion. Stiles had to be kidding. “Does it bother you that much that I don’t try to sleep with you?”

He missed Scott. Scott would have redirected this whole conversation by now. 

Stiles sat back and angled a look at some of the people starting to claim seats. Several of them stared in surprise. A few turned pink. Then Stiles winked and one of them dropped her water bottle. Stiles turned to Derek again. “Derek, if I wanted someone to sleep with me, I could pick almost anyone here.”

Derek crossed his arms and glowered at the stage. “So choose one of them.”

“Maybe I will,” Stiles huffed. “An Oscar-winning director once offered to literally eat out of my hand, you know.” 

“You have nice hands,” Derek growled at him. 

“I know,” Stiles responded, just as tersely. “But thanks.” He stuck the tiny straw in his mouth as if he had a vicious thirst. Derek listened to his every gulp, wishing he didn’t feel stupidly pleased that Stiles had accepted _his_ juice box. 

They sat like that until Stiles drained it. Then Derek held out his hand and Stiles handed the juice box over. “I didn’t let him,” Stiles admitted, grumpy and kicking out at the row of chairs in front of them. 

“What?” Derek clutched an empty juice box and felt like the saddest beta alive. 

“The director. I didn’t let him eat out of my hand. It was a totally out of nowhere thing to offer, like, I did not ask for that, and I’m not eighteen and interested in messing around anymore anyway. Nope.” Stiles expelled an annoyed breath. “Not eighteen anymore. Not interested in stuff like that. I no longer need to feel better about myself because some jerk didn’t want me when I was an awkward youth.”

“You’re still an awkward youth, you’re just prettier,” Derek told him immediately although they were both closer to thirty than twenty, then made a face as he imagined his mother—and Scott—glaring at him. Alpha glares were serious. “You weren’t that awkward. You had friends. I had my uncle and Ka—mostly my family. And you, uh, blossomed.”

“Blossomed?” Stiles cracked a wide, shit-eating grin at the word, then let it fall from his face. “It’s different though, when people only want the omega. Not that I know what it was like to be wanted before _all this_ happened.” He didn’t wave at his body, which Derek thought had turned out perfectly, maybe not for everyone, but right for Derek. He must have meant his omega nature, the appeal and ripe scent, the heats, the energy boiling over into pleasure, or the promise of it. 

Derek swallowed. “I seem to recall you chasing after plenty of kids your age, even before _all this_.” He used air quotes, just to be a dick. 

Stiles sighed at the ceiling. “Yeah. But did any of them chase me?” 

Derek didn’t understand. “You were always going to turn out like this. They probably thought you’d prefer alphas.”

“Do you even know what most alphas are like, like the levels of prick we’re talking…?” Stiles trailed off, mid-rant, then slowly lowered his gaze from the high ceiling to consider Derek. 

“You should...” Derek made himself scowl, because that stare was unnerving. “You should probably get ready to get up there.”

“I smell good to you.” Stiles brought up something Derek had been forlornly hoping he would forget. “Yet you’ve never tried to woo me into being yours.”

Derek held tight to the silly, squashed juice box. “Stiles. The panel.”

“Ugh. The others aren’t even here yet, Derek. We’ve got a good hour.” Stiles plucked the juice box from Derek’s hands and dropped it to the floor. “You’re trapped in conversation with a handsome, single omega, with tons of available hotel rooms one short elevator ride away. Oh woe is Derek. Tell me.” Stiles edged into his space, his focus a living, dangerous thing. There was a reason Derek had thrown himself after Kate the moment Stiles had turned eighteen. “Do you have a room here? Do you want to show me your room, Derek? Do you want to take me someplace where it’s just the two of us? Or do you just want to take me?” 

“Yes, I want you, Stiles. Is that what you need to hear?” Derek bit out through clenched teeth, and jerked to his feet. 

Stiles flung out a hand. He barely grazed Derek’s thigh, but Derek immediately sank back to his seat. Stiles wanted him to stay, and even for a beta, Derek was owned by this omega. Erica would be smirking, might _be_ smirking somewhere behind him. 

“Need, no. But it’s kind of nice to hear.” Stiles offered quietly, then pulled his hand away to chew at his nails. 

Derek grabbed another juice box from his bag and ripped the straw from it. He handed it over with his eyes down. Stiles let out a strangely delighted sound and grabbed at it. _He took it._ Derek’s brain belatedly caught up with the proceedings, and he turned to look at Stiles in frozen surprise. 

Stiles stared back at him, plastic-wrapped straw sticking out of his soft, wide mouth. 

“Have you—?” Derek couldn’t manage the rest, _noticed you’ve been accepting my gifts?_ Because of course Stiles had. Derek swallowed. “You can sleep with anyone.”

“Been there, done that.” Stiles mumbled around the straw. “More interested in what a heat might be like with a partner.”

“You could _get_ anyone,” Derek corrected. “They would line up.”

“Aw, thanks.” Stiles was an ass, but a sincere one. “If only you’d said that to me years ago, or gotten in the damn line in the first place, then maybe I wouldn’t boil over like this around you.”

Derek frowned. “I’m a beta.”

“And Scott presents as one, and I’m an omega who isn’t on any magazine covers.” Stiles snorted. “You’re such a dumbass. An omega chooses who an omega chooses.”

“But I’m— I tried—” Derek cut himself off. “I used to drive you and Cora to school every day.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles didn’t seem to have much of an opinion of him for someone who claimed he’d been waiting for Derek to chase him. “Your mom made you, and you spent the entire ride sighing miserably.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows, then lowered them. He shook his head. 

“Your mom didn’t make you?” Stiles questioned faintly, but then didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh my God!” 

Once again the whole room turned to look at them. There were more people this time. Stiles didn’t seem to care. “Oh my God!” he howled again, and gave Derek a stare of betrayal. “You… I didn’t…. I wasn’t even _this_ yet…. Oh my God. What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I liked the way you laughed,” Derek answered testily. “And you smelled nice.” He hadn’t been that much older than Stiles. “But then you grew up. I was away at school by then, but I knew you had no interest in me. When I came home you were playing the field, as you should. Then I met… it doesn’t matter. Of course I didn’t chase you. I’m a simple beta, Stiles.”

“You smell like earth and copper. You smell like the ground, cool and real and everywhere. I want to pin you down and know you inside out. You’re not simple to me.” Stiles was not lowering his voice. Derek thought people were reaching for their phones, probably to record this. He tried to interrupt but Stiles rose to his feet and brandished his plastic-wrapped straw. “I have beckoned you, Derek.” He gestured sharply to his face, his eyes. “I looked, I glanced, and you… you wouldn’t glance back! I’m an omega, but I chased you.”

Derek tried to keep the crowd in mind, but his attention was on Stiles and Stiles telling him that he had tried to chase him. “Yeah, you’re really not good at it,” Derek mumbled at last. Scott had definitely been correct about that. “I thought you were teasing. I thought you were,” his voice became a hush, “practicing.”

Stiles flailed wildly, although, unlike when he’d been a kid, he stayed on his feet. “Because you’re only a beta?” he guessed, but not inaccurately, then narrowed his eyes. “Simon _is_ me, isn’t he? Scott said so. Cora said reading them was too much for her because she could tell. And you ended the story with me hooking up with _Dudley_? When Dear Professor was there the whole time? Simon spent that heat with him, safe and sated in his bed, and I thought… _Derek_ ….” Stiles nearly purred the name and then made a sound rich with longing that ended when he yanked on his hair. “You know what? You’re not good at this either. You didn’t even tell me those books were for me. What is even the point of trying to win me if you're not actually trying to win me?” 

“You could do better. Find bigger game.” Derek barely heard himself. He kept his gaze on Stiles, who expressed outrage with his entire body. He drew himself up and then tilted his chin to stare down at Derek. His gaze became heavy, thoughtful. 

Derek’s mouth went dry. 

Stiles curved one side of his mouth in a clever smile. 

Derek’s heart began to pound. He felt the program slip from his fingers. 

“You want me,” Stiles announced. “ _Me_ , not just this. And you thought… you thought you could never have me. The professor—” He stopped again. “That’s so sad, Derek. I know I called you a loser a lot when we were kids, but it wasn’t… I just wanted… you wouldn’t….” He trailed off with another gesture in Derek’s direction. “If you make me say it, I’ll never forgive you.”

The exit wasn’t that far away. Derek could have made a run for it if he didn’t feel like the entire writing world finding out about it. And then his mother. And then he’d have to deal with Scott’s disappointed emails and the wrathful expression on the sheriff’s face whenever he pulled Derek over. 

He had a room upstairs. He could try to make a break for it. But just because Derek was a beta didn’t mean he was a coward. 

He glared upward. “Those books were for you,” he ground out. “I’d be honored if you chose me for your partner.”

“The word is _mate_ ,” Stiles smartly corrected Derek’s safer word choice, but then paused to take a deep breath. “I mean, it is, isn’t it? You aren’t just after an omega to warm your bed and look good on your arm, are you?”

Derek worked his jaw, then shook his head. “Yeah, that’s why I got up early to drive a loud-mouthed fifteen-year-old to school every day during my senior year.” Whispery sarcasm was the best he could do with his chest constricted. 

Stiles pointed furiously at him and worked his mouth, then shut it with a snap. He ran his hands through his hair before pointing at Derek again. He lifted his chin and was beautiful doing it, all soft, beguiling eyes and color in his cheeks. He looked as if he had several choice things he wanted to say, things a properly courted omega in past centuries would never have dreamed of saying. But instead of saying any of them, he snapped his fingers toward the floor. 

Derek let himself take a moment to silently recognize what a fool he was. Countless alphas and strong betas, even an omega or two, had offered themselves to Stiles. But when he didn’t move right away, Stiles’ eyes seemed to empty of warmth.

Derek got to his feet without another thought. 

He wasn’t taller than Stiles, though he was big and built well and worked out. Even Kate had admitted he had pretty eyes. He was educated, and could live off what he made, and stayed close to his family. He wrote. He went to the signings and panels of his friends, even when he knew they were big enough names that they would have a guaranteed audience. Other than that, he spent most of his time indoors, writing, thinking, digging into research. He would make a decent husband and mate, but he wasn’t all that impressive when it came down to it. All he had to offer was himself, and the promise to make his mate happy to the best of his ability. 

“I’m just a beta,” he reminded Stiles again. 

Stiles blinked like a stunned deer, then rolled his shoulders. “Meh. Alphas shmalphas. Reliable and dependable have their own appeal. I can always look into the crowd and find your saturnine countenance.” He smiled sunnily. “Even when you glower, you’ve got my back. You’re always there, and I like you there, even though you won’t look at me, you ass.” 

“I can tell you’re a writer from your way with words.” Derek would have sighed if his stomach hadn’t been in knots. 

“Do you want me or not?” Stiles snapped, something harsher than honeyed pleasure or wicked promise in his voice. He seemed ragged for one moment, edged to desperation from years of too much want and heat. _Need_ , Derek realized. He needed Derek. 

Derek inhaled the rich bouquet of him and sank to his knees without any further thought. 

The crowd made a collective noise. Derek ignored them and stared hard at Stiles’ sneakers. One of the laces was too long, so he carefully tugged the bow until the problem was gone. The crowd made a sound again. So did Stiles, who also reached out. Derek couldn’t stop himself from cringing when Stiles lifted a hand, and Stiles stopped, but it was only for a moment, and then Stiles’ agile fingers trailed through his hair. 

“Oh wow,” Stiles murmured, in what could have been awe, but when Derek raised his head, Stiles was smirking. “Dear Professor.”

Derek flinched. Mockery was no less than what he deserved for putting himself forward like this again, to someone so obviously—

Stiles ran his knuckles along Derek’s cheekbone, then turned his hand to touch Derek gently with the pads of his fingers. “Come on, Sourface, don’t back out now. The prize is worth it, right?” No one that talented and full of life should sound that careful and afraid, like he couldn’t possibly take one more rejection from Derek. “Derek?” Stiles pressed, staring into his eyes. “You won’t hurt me?” 

He shouldn’t have had to ask. 

Derek looked back, his whole body warm, but nowhere near as hot as the single place where Stiles touched him. He burned to please him, and leaned in to bury his face against Stiles’ thigh. 

He breathed in, heady pollen and spring and sex. 

“Have me—” he began, but Stiles spoke over him before the words were fully out. 

“Yes! Obviously the answer is yes,” Stiles rushed, shouted, quite possibly, and yanked hard on Derek’s shoulders to drag him to his feet. For a moment, he was a whirlwind, tripping over chairs and people, leaving their belongings behind them. He took hold of Derek’s hand, his fingers white-hot, and then shook his head and swept close to Derek. “How could you even doubt that, you… Derek. Derek, please.” He put his nose against Derek’s neck and inhaled sharply when Derek pressed a careful hand to his back. “Take me,” he added in feverish command, “God, take me. Or let me—”

“Yes.” Derek didn’t let him finish and Stiles let out an aroused moan that Derek felt to his toes. He pulled Stiles to him, away from greedy stares for all the good it did with Stiles wrapping his arms around him and mouthing obscenely at Derek’s clothes. 

He’d said yes, Derek consciously recognized for the first time. Stiles had said yes. To _him_. 

He raised his head to help clear it and stared down at Stiles’ back, the pink flushed nape of his neck. “Stiles.” He whispered it, petal-soft, and placed one hand over the top of Stiles’ spine. 

Stiles shivered and stopped. Derek petted him, dry-mouthed and wondering until Stiles finally lifted his head. His expression, his entire body, yearned to be back against Derek, yearned _for_ Derek. Derek would give him what he needed. 

“But not here,” Derek agreed, quietly amazed that Stiles would be clinging to his clothes and pulling Derek’s hands under his t-shirt where his skin was hot to the touch. It wasn’t a heat, but something close to it. Derek blushed but didn’t tell him to stop. He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. “I have a room.”

Stiles ducked his head, then raised it again to meet Derek’s gaze. He was breathing hard and shaking. “Please.” 

He tugged on Derek’s clothes although Derek was already moving again; Stiles didn’t have to beg. Derek led him toward the elevator or toward the nearest broom closet, he honestly couldn’t say. They could have passed a smiling Scott and a hollering Erica and Derek wouldn’t have noticed. 

His attention was on Stiles, and he intended to keep it there, for the next hour, for forever.


End file.
